


She Got the Pink

by ahimsabitches



Category: Trollhunters (Cartoon)
Genre: F/F, PWP, Strickler is the victim here, THAT'S PUSSY BABE, but nobody cares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-09
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-20 00:38:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14884290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ahimsabitches/pseuds/ahimsabitches
Summary: Set after the events of S3.





	She Got the Pink

**Author's Note:**

> Some context for those who aren't familiar with Dredda or some of the references: She is a breeder changeling, which means she wasn't created by Morgana but by Gunmar, for the express purpose of breeding a race of warrior trolls who could survive in sunlight. Thus, she's bigger than regular changelings, and goes through heats like trolls do. In the Darklands, she is kept with other breeder changelings, her sisters. Once she got out, she founded the Minerva Order, which is basically the feminist inclusive adversary to the Janus Order. Blinky is her mate.

The tea slid easily down her throat and the scent of it slid up to her brain and reminded Dredda of dark purple flowers pressed between the pages of old books. Nomura's human eyes rose over the rim of her cup, green to Dredda's green. They glittered with something that hadn't been there for a long time. She sat on the loveseat across the room, her legs tucked primly under her and her pink dress aflame in the low lamplight. A low-slung coffee table squatted between them. Dredda placed her cup on its saucer. It clinked softly.

“Tea's good.”

By way of thanks, Nomura smiled and blinked slowly, a gesture that reminded Dredda of a panther at rest.

Another memory surfaced too, of something that had happened between them after they'd had their tea...or before they'd finished it. Fortunately Dredda wasn't in heat this time. Or unfortunately.

She glanced around the living room to distract herself from the warm squirming deep and low in her belly. The room was decorated in dark, fragrant wood and hues of blue-grey-green, which didn't seem like Nomura. A landscape done in torturously delicate detail hung on the wall over Nomura's left shoulder. It didn't seem like Nomura either. She tipped her chin up at it. “Rubens?”

Nomura moved only to sip her tea. “Most likely a forgery.” Her voice was wine-dark velvet in Dredda's ears.

“You'd know, wouldn't you?” Dredda asked, uncrossing her legs.

“Mmm,” Nomura said, leaning forward to place her cup on the coffee table. The V of her neckline met the curving arc of her cleavage in a dark diamond a thousand times more enticing than any sparkle-thing set on ring. Dredda tried to swallow, but all the wetness in her had fled south. “I still haven't decided whether I want to rebuild the museum or not.” She leaned back, chin tipped up, back arched, and extended one leg to toe at with the curled corner of the Turkish rug under the coffee table. Her dress slid up her thigh. Dredda fought her hand steady as she eclipsed the vision of Nomura with her teacup. “Most of the collection was fake. On purpose. Worthless.”

The tea reminded her of Nomura, of old flowers and old books, of steel-spined fierceness and a scent that was too lush to be troll and too wild to be human. She put the cup down and pitched her voice deep as she could, so it would purr. “Well the curator sure isn't.”

Nomura's eyes turned yellow, hungry. Dredda propped one arm on the back of the couch and beckoned Nomura to her with a hooked finger.

“I thought you were mated,” Nomura said as she oiled around the coffee table.

“I am. I have his blessing.” Dredda reached for her, hands and eyes up like a supplicant. She looped a leg over Dredda's knees and straddled her lap, her dress rucking up to her hips. “I didn't want to leave you without a proper goodbye.” Dredda kissed Nomura's soft, small smile and tasted flowers and tea, and teeth which could unsheath a bone from its flesh. Nomura's hands fisted in her hair, tight enough to hurt. Dredda wrapped her strong arms around her and squeezed her ribs, tight enough to rob her of breath.

But neither of them relented; Nomura bit Dredda's lower lip with human teeth and Dredda growled in a human throat and Nomura scrabbled at the buttons of Dredda's blue shirt with human hands and Dredda slid human fingers up between Nomura's legs.

“Gggnhh,” Nomura moaned, and the sound shot a redhot arrow down Dredda's spine. “You're not in heat, are you?” Her voice trembled.

“No,” Dredda breathed and craned her neck up, mouth open, demanding.

“Damn,” Nomura said and chuckled.

“More makeouts, less talk,” Dredda clamped a hand on the back of Nomura's neck and they pressed themselves together again. Nomura arched her back and ground her hips against Dredda's lap. Nomura's shifting weight had pulled Dredda's slacks tight against her pussy, and the motion sent a pulse of pleasure up though her.

Nomura flung her belt away. With it gone, Dredda could unhook the clasp and unzip the zipper on Nomura's right hip. She burrowed that hand greedily under the cloth and clutched Nomura's bare ass, her fingers brushing the top of her thong. Dredda grinned.

“What?” Nomura asked, breaking the kiss.

By way of answer, Dredda arched an eyebrow and snapped the strap on her ass.

“Pantylines are obscene,” Nomura huffed.

Her upturned nose crinkled, and a fist squeezed Dredda's heart. “I'm gonna miss you.”

Nomura eased down, pressing the entire length of her body against Dredda's, and kissed her way up Dredda's neck in featherlight touches that burned like ice on her skin. “Show me how much,” she purred.

Nomura's words galvanized Dredda. She hooked her hands into the soft curve where Nomura's leg met her ass, slid to the front of the couch-- the seam of her pants rubbing against her clit along the way-- and stood up. Nomura wrapped her legs around Dredda's waist. Locked together by Nomura's ankles and Dredda's arms and their lips and their lust, Dredda carried them upstairs.

“Bedroom's right,” Nomura slurred. Dredda turned into to the dim room, which had a sink and tile floors.

“This is the fucking bathroom, Nomura.”

“Shit. Left, then.”

“Just moved in or something?” Dredda asked as she nudged the bedroom door open with her foot. The only light in the room was a dimly glowing crystal on the far bedside table. It spilled a small circle of amniotic amber light onto the table and the edge of the bed.

“Yeah,” Nomura mumbled. It made sense. Most of the town had been destroyed. The survivors had had to find intact houses where they could.

Dredda didn't give it any more thought-- didn't want to, not when there was Nomura, limned in amber light, fish-wiggling out of that tight little dress. Not when there was Nomura and nobody else, no other scent but the waning of tea-flowers and the waxing of Nomura's body. Dredda finished unbuttoning her shirt and yanked it off her shoulders. Her belt clinked and her pants shuffled and her ankles got tangled in her own underwear and she fell forward on top of Nomura, both of them giggling like young things.

Nomura cupped Dredda's cheeks and kissed her again, and with an understanding that flowed below thought, the teeth beneath each pair of lips grew pointed and dangerous. Dredda opened her eyes and the pair of sister-ones, glowing green and slitted, slid a delicious chill down through her guts.

Sister-eyes, yellow and green and orange, were beacon, were comfort, were twin sets of fireflies winking in a soft summer evening, were warmth in heartless, aching dark. This Dredda had known since had been able to know anything, and this was a transcendental truth that had been her armor and the enduring heart beneath it. Though Nomura had tried to knife it several times, she had eventually shed one of her faces and had left the Janus Order for the Minerva Order.

Dredda admired the way the witchy green light spilled down Nomura's glossy pink cheeks. She smiled and deposited kisses on each of the light pools. Trolls didn't kiss, but they weren't trolls. Trolls didn't kiss their partners' cheeks, or neck, or shoulders, or ribs, or chests, or bellies, or thighs. Trolls did not slid their pointed tongues between their partners' warm, trembling legs because troll tongues were barbed like sharkskin.

Nomura jerked as Dredda closed her mouth over her clit, larger and more prominent than a human's, and sucked gently. She had to be very careful with her teeth. Nomura's cloven feet landed on Dredda's broad back and her long thin claws ticked against Dredda's horns. The taste of troll cunt was different, thicker somehow, as if the taste of underground had written itself into troll biology. Dredda guessed it had.

But this was not exactly troll-cunt; this was a half-step from it toward the warm spicy-sweet musk of human, and the not-quiteness of it was what Dredda loved, what made her own cunt pulse and drip. With one hand hooked around Nomura's thigh, she used the other to work her own clit. She popped her mouth off Nomura's clit, which made her jerk and yelp, and nibbled at the tendon on the inside of her thigh, taut as a steel cable as Nomura spread her legs wider. Nomura moaned and scraped her claws against Dredda's horns, needing to grip but holding back.

Dredda raised her head and gazed at the double-glow of Nomura's eyes across the rolling plain of her body. “I told you last time, you can hold them,” she murmured.

“Sure?” Nomura rasped.

“Sure. I like it.”

“You're weird,” Nomura said, and grasped Dredda's thick curving horns like reins.

“You love it,” Dredda said, and resumed her work.

By way of answer, Nomura squeaked and bucked her hips.

Oh, Dredda would miss this. She would miss the taste of Nomura, the smell of Nomura, the sight of sister-eyes, but most of all she would miss the need they both felt to be around each other, the odd and unknowable gravity that had drawn all changelings into colliding orbits despite the viciousness-- or aloofness-- with which they met each other. Their star had simply winked out, and her spell was slowly, rune by rune, being erased from their bones. Dredda knew Nomura felt it too, which was why she'd come when Dredda's gravity had called her, and why she'd kissed Dredda so fiercely that even her human teeth had drawn blood.

And why, when she came, she shouted Dredda's name and laughed, her claws carving fresh white lines into Dredda's horns.

Neither of them heard the back door open. Neither of them heard the sound of jingling keys, of a briefcase being dropped onto the kitchen table, or the angry thudding of footfalls up the stairs.

Bright yellow light suddenly flooded the bedroom. Dredda and Nomura turned to it as one, squinting as their round eyes thinned to slits. A manshape stood in the doorway.

“Really? _Again_?  This is _my_ bloody house, Nomura!”

Dredda’s eyes adjusted; it was Stricklander, human. She sat up on her elbows and looked down at the top of Nomura’s glossy black head. “I guess that’s why you didn’t know where the bedroom was.” Nomura surfaced from between her legs, groaning and rolling her eyes, and kicked the door shut with a swift strike of her hoof. Dredda waved cheerily at him as the door swung shut.

 


End file.
